


What can you see? On the Horizon.

by AceLucky



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Cooking, Friendship, Gardening, Grief/Mourning, Hope, Loneliness, Memories, Old Friends, Reflection, Reunion, Singing, Tales of old, Time Skips, Wanderlust, lost loved ones, memories that never were
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 13:32:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8753503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceLucky/pseuds/AceLucky
Summary: Based on a short head canon I wrote regarding Bilbo after the events in the Hobbit. Bilbo reflects on this adventures, friendships made and those he has lost. He sets places at the dinner table every year just in case some of the remaining dwarves which to call in...





	

**Author's Note:**

> I made myself cry writing this, not going to lie. Thorin, Kili and Fili all get mentioned but I haven't tagged them as characters as they're not physically in the fic for obvious reasons. I loved thinking about this though and how Bilbo would take up his time, how he would cope with the changes within himself etc. 
> 
> This hasn't had a beta so please let me know if you notice anything! Enjoy!
> 
> Title is a lyric from 'Into the west' sung by Annie Lennox from the end of RotK.

Gandalf had been right, of that Bilbo was certain. He had said he couldn’t guarantee that he would return and if he did he would not be the same as when he left. It was as simple as that really and as such Bilbo could not complain, no one had lied to him, he knew what to expect but the reality was far more cruel than the dream. 

Bilbo unwrapped Fili’s knives and sat down next to the hearth to set about cleaning them as he did every month. The items he brought back from his quest sat in his mother’s glory box and would be cleaned religiously every month. 

Bilbo felt that having these items so close to him helped to keep a part of the others alive. 

He stared into the smouldering coals thinking of the fire that rained down on Dale, all the sacrifices that were made, he had no doubt that this would not be the end, yet the dwarves reclaiming the mountain at least meant the orcs no longer had such a strong foothold.

Bilbo placed the knife he was cleaning down and shook his head, no he could not worry about the future or think of war, he had done his part. He had done more than any Hobbit should have to and had suffered greatly for it. 

But now he was home, with his books, his garden, his simple but homely food. How he wished he could have cooked for all of them again, how he wished he could have shown Thorin the sapling that had sprung from the acorn he took from Beorn’s garden. But there was no point in wishing, wishing achieved nothing, he had his book to focus on. Writing and drawing helped to ease the pain and he reassured himself that one day he would return to Rivendell and sit drinking Elvish wine with Lord Elrond again. 

It was coming up to the two year anniversary of when the dwarves first came to his doorstep. As happy as Bilbo was on his own and with his own company, he hoped that just maybe one of them would come to visit, his door was always open after all. 

He sat down in his favourite dressing gown and looked across his supplies, extra ale, cheeses, bread, meat… He had purposefully stocked up on extra food and then he had set fourteen places, Gandalf including and other places even for his fallen friends.

But when the day came, it went just as quickly with nothing out of the ordinary occurring, no knock at the door, no company, just fourteen empty plates and bowls gathering dust. 

Bilbo paced up and down his living room wondering what to do next. When he had first left the Shire to go on the expedition, he was excited but afraid and had spent the first half of it longing for the comforts of home. Now he was here there was nothing further from his mind than comfort, his books? He had read them all. He’d made his garden just so, he’d tried all the recipes his heart had longed desired for. What he longed for was adventure.

Bilbo could barely stand it, every time someone knocked at the door he hoped with all his heart that it would be one of the dwarves, but when he opened it to one of the Sackeville Baggins’ or another of his neighbours he would great them in a way that he knew Gandalf would be less than impressed with. His heart ached, every bone in his body recalled some great or terrible memory, a place or person awesome to behold. He was unbearably restless. 

As the sapling grew with time exposing itself to the world, greeting each new day with a smile, Bilbo did the opposite. He grew less fond of social occasions and begun to disappear into himself, diving into his book at every given moment so he could relive the adventures again, there was always a part of him that was elsewhere.

On the seventh anniversary of the dwarves first calling there came a knock at the door, followed by a familiar voice as the guests welcomed themselves in, “Well he said not to knock,” came another familiar voice.

Bilbo’s head shot up and he moved faster than he had in years, dressing gown now far more tatty than it had been when he’d first met the dwarves. As he turned round the corner in his Hobbit hole he had to take a deep breath, terrified for a moment that he would be wrong and this was his imagination playing tricks on him. High emotions and loneliness could cause some pretty strange hallucinations. 

But as Bilbo saw who was stood at the door he needn’t of worried, “Bofur…” he said fondly hardly believing his eyes. 

Bofur ran up to him and pulled him into a warm embrace, “Hello laddie.”

Bilbo looked beyond the hatted dwarf to see Bifur, Bomber and Dwalin. Bifur moved awkwardly towards him, shuffling his feet, but the moment he looked into Bilbo’s eyes, his own melted, he nodded as if recognising him only now and threw his arms joyously round the hobbit. Bomber held out a large chain of sausages to the grateful hobbit and gave him an over zealous pat on the back. Finally Dwalin took in a deep breath, he took the hobbits face in his hands and turned Bilbo slightly to one side and then the other as if to inspect him and see how he had grown. 

“You’re a wise hobbit,” he winked and then gave Bilbo one of the most crushing, yet welcoming hugs he had ever experienced. 

“The others wanted to come,” he explained, “They hope to be able to get here tomorrow, I hope you understand.” 

Bilbo nodded, “Yes, of course, I….” he was so lost to words he thought he might cry, and then he did, the tears wouldn’t stop flowing and he threw himself back into Dwalin’s arms.

“I missed you all so much,” he confessed, feeling like such a foolish hobbit allowing his emotions to get to him like this in front of the much tougher dwarves.

As if reading his thoughts Bofur placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, “It’s alrigh’ laddie, we’ve all been there, we understand.” 

Bilbo looked up and saw that Bofur was speaking the truth, looking at Dwalin, Bomber and Bifur, they too nodded gravely.

“War takes it out of even the best of us,” Dwalin said, “Thorin knew that better than any.”

Bilbo gulped at Thorin’s name, “How is Dain doing?”

“Aye well enough, he is a good King. Thorin would be proud of his cousin,” Dwalin slapped him on the back as Bilbo begun to dry his tears on a dirty handkerchief.

“And Bard?”

Bofur nodded, “Aye good in all, his children have really grown up now. Tilda and Sigrid are married and Bain is growing to be a fine gentleman.”

Bilbo smiled, in amongst all the chaos, all the pain, all the death, there had still been hope, there was still light. Somehow good had been able to come from it and he had to be grateful for that small mercy.

The following day Bilbo took them all to the oak tree sapling and they sat round it drinking the finest mead that Dwalin had brought with him whilst recounting their favourite stories of Fili, Kilii and Thorin. As the sun began to fade Dwalin started to sing songs he and Thorin had once sung, Bilbo felt his eyes mist up and excused himself for a moment. 

Bilbo stood on the bridge over the small brook, it didn’t seem real, all those adventures he’d been on. He saw the way the other hobbits looked at him now, but then again they’d been looking at him strangely ever since he’d returned from the quest. He would never be a normal hobbit, but as Gandalf had said, he was sure that his ancestors would be proud of the decisions he had made. He really was just a very small hobbit in a very large world, but he had been able to make a difference. 

That evening they indulged in their second fest, Bilbo had acquired more cheese than he felt he had ever seen in his life, this was especially for Bombur. 

After much ale was drunk they sat round the roaring fire and sung Misty Mountains in honour of their fallen friends. 

Later that night he sat by the sapling and talked to it, quietly of course so that none of the other hobbits would think he was crazy. The sapling had become a representation of Thorin, of the hopes that he had had for the future and how he had wanted to change the world for the better. The tiny sapling that could be so easily destroyed by wind, rain, drought or fire, it persevered through it all, just as Bilbo had once long ago. 

Time passed and the other dwarves never showed, the others didn’t mention it, it was easier and less painful that way. Bilbo was just happy for the company of those who had come to spend that sacred time with him. When the time came for them to part Bilbo felt a great sadness but was left with the knowledge that he had a family, a family who would come to see him whenever they could. Their bond and love was unbreakable and as they disappeared over the hill he suddenly found from being very lost, he had become very found.

After they had gone he left the dishes out for several days, liking that his home felt so lived in and loved. They had offered to clean up of course, but Bilbo politely declined, cleaning would give him a purpose, something to take up his time. 

As time went on Bilbo would have guests for afternoon tea and it was always just perfectly lovely and the children in the Shire, how he adored telling them his tales, that was what kept his soul alive. 

Writing with quill, putting ink to the paper had helped in some ways, the words he formed so carefully were like stitches in a wound slowly mending his broken heart. But retelling the stories aloud to the children who so desperately wanted to hear them that was what gave him hope. There would always be adventure in the world, stories could capture the imagination of the young and lead them to do great things with their lives. He may be too old to go on any more adventures now but 

Years passed without much in the way of extraordinary occurring, some of the dwarves did come and visit again, it was usually every 6 to 7 years. But now Bilbo quite sensed it was time for another adventures. 

Frodo opened the front door with caution, “Uncle Bilbo?”

Bilbo was sat on his mother’s glory box, the treasure inside had not been cleaned for months.. or was it years now? He had the ring in his hand turning it over again and again, he had kept his word to Gandalf he had kept it hidden and secret but occasionally he could not help but get it out. There was something so alluring about the ring, it nearly matched the excitement the thought of traveling once again brought to him.

“Bilbo?”

Bilbo was so engrossed in turning the ring over at watching it gleam in the reflection of the fire that he didn’t hear his nephew calling to him.

When Frodo emerged Bilbo jumped nearly dropping the ring, all thought interrupted he had all but forgotten where he was. He quickly stuffed the ring into his pocket and smiled at his nephew, one hand still in his pocket gently stroking the metal. He was sure it felt warm in his hand, but then he guessed this was where he had been caressing it so much. Thorin would have looked this ring, he was sure of that, Thorin had been so fond of gold, that had been his downfall in the end. 

Bilbo’s smile faltered for a moment and the cracks begun to show, he showed doubt, like something was missing, a part of his memory perhaps, a story he had yet to write about in his book. 

Frodo smiled fondly and leant against the wall, “What are you day dreaming about now?”

Bilbo smiled warmly in return and got up wearily from the box, burying the ring further into his pocket and pulling his hand out to clap Frodo on the back.

“Nothing my dear chap,” he placed his arm around Frodo, “I believe Gandalf should be here shortly. Why don’t you go and meet him there’s a good fellow,” he patted Frodo on the back once again. 

“Anything for you Bilbo,” Frodo smiled and disappeared again.

“Ahh Gandalf,” Bilbo spoke to no one, “Are there many more you miss? How many have you lost in your time I wonder?”

Bilbo sat at his desk and opened the first page, he’d left it blank still deliberating over a title for this Magnus opus. He felt he would only know what the title should be once he had finished it, but then he wasn’t sure whether it would be him that would finish it, in fact no it wouldn’t be him. He had no doubt that Frodo would follow in his footsteps and he would be the one to finish the book.

Bilbo flicked through the book to find where he had got to, he was so close to finishing and with Frodo out of the house he saw this as the perfect opportunity to get to work. However as he turned the pages some words caught his eye, the names Kili and Fili stood out to him like a flame in the darkness. He read his own words, reliving the memory in his mind, Fili going first without his brother…

They should have died together…. No….they shouldn’t have died at all.

It wasn't fair at all, they had died believing they were protecting him, protecting their Uncle, their people and the people of Dale… They were, they didn’t die in vain, Bilbo had to tell himself this, had to come to terms with the fact that they were gone. They didn’t die in vain. 

Bilbo lit the large ornate pillar candle that was on his desk, it felt a shame to watch the golden leaves burn but Bilbo had come to learn that nothing lasted forever. What was the point in keeping something all it’s life and never using it for the purpose of which it was made? He sipped some red wine and set the glass down on the table, thinking once again of the elves and how much sweeter the nectar would have tasted had he been back there again. 

It felt like only a second had passed but there was a loud knock at the door and when Bilbo’s eyes opened it was already dark out. He jumped in his seat, sadly noticing the amount of gold that had already melt down the side of the candle. he gave a sigh, the ring had seemed to keep him young but only for so long, it was time to leave, time to go on one final adventure.

Bilbo had lived with the hope in his heart that when he sailed into the West he would for the first time in years, be at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this, please let me know what you think, it's always appreciated.


End file.
